


Let’s Crash and Burn Together

by loz_on_the_rocks



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:26:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25512046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loz_on_the_rocks/pseuds/loz_on_the_rocks
Summary: Set in a post season 5 universe. House is a patient at Mayfield and the story follows his journey through recovery. Definitely not canon and my Mayfield is quite different to that in the show, but some elements from season 6 have been used to underpin the story. House and Cameron, but a very slow burn.
Relationships: Allison Cameron/Greg House
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	1. Let’s begin

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at writing House/Cameron like this - a very long time a go I used to write bits and pieces, but they were much more fluffy! I'd appreciate any feedback you're willing to share. The story, you'll be glad to know, is complete, but I'll drop chapters regularly so I have time to do final chapter tweaks and checks as it unwraps. 
> 
> Thanks so much for your time! <3

“Chase and Cameron got back from their honeymoon yesterday.” 

House grunted. Wilson played with the cuff of his shirt and pretended that House had queried how they were. It was much easier to act now. It was much easier to pretend that House wasn’t staring off into space. At the same time, he, Wilson, reported the latest hospital gossip. He pretended that House wasn’t what everyone was whispering about in New Jersey. 

Everyone was pretending. 

“They are both sun-kissed and relaxed. The break did them good.” 

The bloodshot eyes, grey and vacant, briefly connected with Wilson’s warmer chocolate ones. House said nothing as per usual. There was a click of finger joints, a brief tap of a cane before the older doctor stood up and turned to the window. The screech of the metal chair against tile briefly annoyed everyone in the small white room. 

Everything was white, clean, and bland. Boring. This colour scared Wilson more now than it had done in the past. He stayed in his seat and watched House touch the smudged windowpane. He let him have his space. 

_“He’s reticent. I sense this is not normal behaviour for him. Dr Wilson...” Dr. Beasley placed her hand on Wilson’s shoulder and sighed. “James, it’s best to talk normally. Don’t omit things, just talk to him as you usually would. He needs a constant right now.”_

_“Right”_

Wilson cleared his throat and spoke a little louder. “I had a clinic patient the other day.” He smiled briefly. “He came in complaining of a sore throat. In the end, I found out that he’d experimented with putting a...” He noticed that a visiting mother and possibly girlfriend occupied the sofa next to their table. Still, their current interest was in him and his story rather than their own family member. He joined House at the window, touched his friend’s arm and squeezed it. 

Wilson went to speak, but when he noticed a lone tear seep down House’s cheek, he paused. He grabbed his friend and physically turned him to face him. “House?”

“She won’t shut up.” He whispered, squeaks of air sipping through his chapped lips. “She won’t, she won’t shut up.” His hand that had been leaving a print on the window reached for his hair and clenched hard. “She won’t shut up.” 

“Okay...” Wilson searched his friend’s eyes for anything. But there was nothing to search for. He knew what was happening to his friend, and for the first time, in what felt like years, he brought his hands around the stiffened frame and hugged him like there was no tomorrow. “Okay, House. It’s okay.”

The sound of both of them crumbling to the floor, the larger but weaker frame of House toppling over the other doctor echoed around the room. As soon as Wilson had rolled his friend on to his back, a nurse had administered a heavy sedative. The wet, salty trail of tears still stained the man’s cheeks as Wilson watched his friend being manoeuvred back to his room.

When he got back to Princeton, Wilson pretended that everything was fine. 

///~~~///

“You know what’s funny?” The chirpy singsong voice of Amber catapulted House from his day-dream. He had been drinking scotch on the rocks with a gorgeous twenty-something, while he played poker in a casino room. He shook his head to the now. In the far corner of the room, she began to play air piano on her knees. From where he was laying, he could not see her feet, but he was pretty sure she would be barefoot. Like always. 

She stopped and glared at him. “Fine. Play the silent game with me. It won’t make me go away.” 

“Maybe I just don’t want to know something funny.” He replied casually, himself tapping out a rhythm on his jean-clad thighs. Amber stood and skipped across to the side of his bed, leaning into his space, almost nose to nose. 

“Yeah, you do.” 

“No, really, I’m alright, thank you. Unless it’s a dirty limerick, I’m not really in the mood.”

“I know what mood you’re in, remember?” Amber argued, straightening her back and tapping him on the chest. He felt nothing. “I am you.” 

“Yeah. I know that too.”

“I know when you’re tired when you’re angry...” She smirked. “When you’re crying.”

“Shut up.”

She laughed at him and brushed her fingers down to his hand and put on a baby voice. _“She won’t shut up... she won’t shut up”_ House knuckles went white while he breathed in deeply. His heart pounded in his chest as he fought himself not to show any emotion, which considering Amber was a part of him- she laughed again. “This is too easy.” House rolled onto his side, onto his good leg, and stared at the blank wall the bed was bolted to. He closed his eyes tight. “Wilson doesn’t want to come back, you know,” Amber added after a moment of silence. “He doesn’t like to see you like this. You failed him.”

“I failed him?” 

“How many times has he tried to help you and you’ve ignored it? Maybe he won’t come back anymore. He doesn’t want to see you now.” She paused, obviously for effect. “You’re a disappointment to him. To everyone.”

When the sedative had worn off, he found himself lying where he was now, woozy and lethargic. No Wilson, just a nurse watching over him from afar. She kindly informed him that his friend had left to let him get some rest. That he would be back soon. 

With the two days passing slowly, he found himself wondering whether he wanted to see his friend again. There was only so much pity one person could take, and House’s tolerance was already thin.  
  
“Greg” 

Dr. Beasley tapped tentatively on the open door. He heard the footsteps until they were next to him, and on returning to a horizontal position on his back, found Amber no longer to be there. He quickly glanced around the room before focusing on the new visitor. 

_“It’s House”_

_“Greg. We use first names here.” Informal and friendly._

_House bit his lip hard. “House.”_

The doctor picked up a chair, placed it next to the bed and sat with the meds on her lap. “How are you feeling? I’ve got your pain meds here.”

House pulled himself into an upright position, a sigh, a huff and a gentle bump as his head touched the headboard. “I’m in pain and feeling crappy. No thanks to you.”

She didn’t lose focus. “When James visited you-”

House wondered if Amber was hiding in the hallway listening. He realised quickly what a ridiculous idea that was. “Can I have my meds?”

“Is she here now?” 

“No.” 

“You keep looking around. She was here?” 

“I would like my meds now. _Please._ ” House offered with an open palm and hoped the two powdery ovals would be dropped on to it soonish. But the doctor seemed more inclined to talk about his insanity; a topic House was the least interested in. “Fine. Yes. We spoke about opening a joint bank account. Satisfied?” Beasley scowled but passed across the medication he craved. Once they had hit the back of his throat, he closed his eyes. 

“We want to change your prescription.” House blinked and looked at her.

“What for?” 

“You seem to be coping with this dosage.” She touched House’s arm gently. Far too many people seemed to be touching him recently, he reflected. It was uncomfortable.

“I can’t function on a lower dosage. The pain-” He grabbed his thigh as a knee-jerk reaction. “I -just. No.”

The doctor looked at him for a moment and nodded. “We’re changing the meds tomorrow, you show that you’re not coping then we’ll discuss it.” 

The world snapped. 

“Why ask me then?” House’s voice cut through the room. The pain in his thigh was searing hot. He started rubbing his leg back and forth over the jeans. “I need to be on the original prescription. This is fucking ridiculous! I might as well be going cold turkey.” A sharp jolt of pain erupted from his leg, and he clutched it tight. “You’re meant to be helping me!” A sweat broke out on his forehead, and yet the doctor beside him remained calm. 

“This is psychological. You were fine before I came in.”

“Before you came in I was hallucinating!” 

“But pain-wise?” House glared. “We’ll talk tomorrow.” As soon as the doctor left another visitor appeared, one who was even less welcome. Just like an imaginary revolving door, he shuddered. 

“Well well, the baby doesn’t get what he wants, and the baby throws the rattle out of the pram. Maybe baby should’ve not been given any toys at all.”

“I am well aware of what you are insinuating,” House replied steadily, the pain already less sharp and hot than it was 20 seconds ago. “I’ve been there, done that. Got the rehab t-shirt.” 

“And...?”

“And what? Why should I go through that crap when you might not even be associated with my addiction?” 

Amber tilted her head. “But you said it was. If that’s not the case, then you don’t know the cause. Meaning you can’t work -do your job anymore. Either way, you’re going to lose Greg. You might as well get clean.” 

House shook his head, grabbed his cane and stood up. “I’m going for a walk, do not follow me.” 

He left the room, leaving Amber twirling in the centre of it, smiling like she always did. 

Barefoot. 

///~~~///

The room, this one was also white, was large and unfriendly. It was bright from the neon lighting, large glass windows and shiny tiled floor. Four chairs and one metal table. House sat watching the door and tapping his fingers against the wobbly table to the tune of some long-forgotten piece of music. Unhurriedly his doctor seeped into his space and sat opposite him. 

“Good Morning Greg.” There was no pause as the doctor had no problem assuming the greeting would not be returned. “I have some good news. Your latest blood work shows that your bilirubin levels are fine. We’re on the right track. You say that Amber doesn’t appear as often as before?”

House nodded slowly. She’d appeared barely this week, mostly during the evenings, and after his evening dose. The correlation was uncanny. His mixed feelings that, a) he knew the cause of his hallucinations and b) the cause was his only reason for happiness were poorly disguised. “She’s as friendly as ever though.” He submitted quietly while playing with the chipped corner of the desk. 

“It’s because your mind is well aware that you are recovering.” 

“I know that.” House curtly replied. “These rooms are driving me... uh... uh... I’m bored.” He admitted freely. “I don’t... see her when I’m busy.” 

“Okay.”

“Maybe someone could send books?” He asked, gently pushing at some information. 

2 weeks and 2 days since House had collapsed on top of Wilson crying about an imaginary monster. Since he’d said, he’d be back soon.  
  
House knew better than to ask. 

“Yes we can ask for someone to do that, but is our library not sufficient?” The look on House’s face showed that it wasn’t. “I’ll contact Dr Wilson for you unless you want to do it yourself?” House shook his head. If Wilson didn’t want to come, he wasn’t going to be prompted by a phone call. He’ll probably send something in the mail. Suddenly House shivered and crossed his arms to tighten the jumper around his chest. It felt loose and uncomfortable. He felt lost. What happened to someone being his constant? “Alright.” 


	2. Let's pretend you're somebody else

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House has a visitor, and he pretends to hate it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since the previous chapter was extremely Cameron light for a House/Cameron story (note: non-existent), I've published two chapters back-to-back to make up for it.
> 
> I'll try and update as regularly as possible.

“Hi, I’m here to see Doc... Gregory House.” 

House heard her peachy voice from down the corridor where he was stomping. Up and down the wing. Up and down with a quick pace, enough for him to be breathing heavily when he suddenly stopped. He could see her tiny shadow on the floor just along from where he was. She was holding a large hessian bag -for him?

There were some faint murmurings, he couldn’t hear the woman behind the desk, and maybe it was because Cameron’s voice was far too happy to be in a place like this. It stood out like a sore thumb. Although, even its high dancing tone could not conceal a shadow of annoyance. He heard some high heels begin to tap in rhythm with a rubber sole of another. He quickly cantered back towards his room. Or not. He wasn’t sure yet. 

Maybe hiding in another hallway might be better.

He didn’t ask for Cameron. So why was she here? He grunted as his thigh throbbed, and he decided to collapse on his bed and pretend to sleep. Cameron wouldn’t try to wake him if she thought he was asleep. Back along the hallway heading towards the next wing, he was four down on the right.

Three...

Two...

One... 

He pushed the door open and threw his cane towards the bed, stripping his jacket as he went. Pulling back the covers, he sat down and breathed heavily. Regulating his breathing would help. He kicked off his trainers and slipped within the thin sheets. Turning on his side towards the wall, he let out a sigh. 

The clicking heels grew louder. 

Louder and harsher until they stopped, and someone whispered words of _tired, sleep, pain._ The door clicked shut, and he couldn’t hear anything. 

He twisted onto his back and blinked. Finally. 

“I knew you weren’t asleep.” 

Shit. 

He turned once more and spotted her, she was standing at the door, bag in hand and smile on her face. He hated her more than ever at that moment. 

“I didn’t ask for you.”

“I didn’t come for you.” She replied just as steadily as he did, before walking over to the chair, still situated in the middle of the room from the nurse and doctor visits. She sat and dropped the bag to her side.

“Well, then you can go.”

“Right.” She pushed her open coat from her shoulders and let it fall onto the back of the chair. Her caramel skin was even more golden in the bland surroundings of his room. Surely, she would’ve lost her tan by now.

“Don’t ask me how I am.” House continued propping himself up with a pillow. 

“You think I need to?” She asked honestly, and maybe a little surprised. “You look pretty much how you feel I would say.”

“Well, I don’t want to be told how I look. Okay?”

“Okay.” 

“Why are you here?” She tilted her head and looked into the bag. Finally answering the unanswered question. She pulled out a book and placed it on the bed next to him. Then another and another appeared until he could no longer see the deep v of her waistcoat. 

“Wilson wanted you to know-”

“I don’t care.”

“I thought you might say that.” She left the last item, the New England medical journal, on top of the pile. 

“Well then why did you say it?” He asked rudely watching her as she folded the bag neatly.

“To see if my theory could be proved. You are ridiculous.” 

“Right.” He thumbed the bedsheet, which was up to his chest. “I’m the one who left my friend alone after saying I’d visit them in a mental institution.”

“He misses you.” 

House wasn’t going to contemplate any possibility if that was true. Whatever people say, their actions told you the truth. Wilson would’ve come if he missed him. If he cared. If he wanted to keep his promise. 

“Bye, Cameron. Chase, whatever the fuck your name is.” He rolled back onto his side. “I don’t want you to hear, or see you here again.” 

Cameron rolled her eyes and stood up. “It’s still Cameron.” 

“That isn’t a surprise.”

“Wilson blames himself, you know. For all this, he didn’t tell me why exactly. Just that he doesn’t want to cause you more pain.” 

House turned to look at her. “Well, he can tell me himself.”

“If it was that easy don’t you think the last three times he’s taken the afternoon off work to drive here he would’ve done?” House exhaled and pushed back the covers before swinging into a sitting position head against the cold wall. 

“What else has he said?”

“I didn’t think you wanted to know?”

“Cameron” He warned while glaring at her through hazy eyes. 

“He’s worried that he pushed you over the edge or something. He never told me the specifics.”

“Yeah well… tell him if he wants to apologise then I’m open to meeting him for lunch at Hooters, or here. Whatever is easiest.” Cameron smiled uneasily, letting it fall from her face as she moved back towards him from her halfway house between the door and chair. 

He didn’t change position so she could only settle for standing next to the chair as his outstretched legs blocked her path. He knows Wilson doesn’t need to apologise, what was there for him to be sorry for? And yet he let it enter the air between them as a way of settling the tension. 

There were several moments of silence. “Cuddy couldn’t come.” He looked at her, eyebrows steadily rising, a gesture for her to explain. “Wilson picked her first, you know. She’s been a wreck since you were admitted.” 

“Right, that really isn’t a surprise. For the last 6 months, she’s been in my face every time I turn around.”

“Only because you wanted her to be.”

House looked up at her and chuckled. “You’re jealous? _Naughty Cameron. You’re married now.”_ She rolled her eyes. “I bet Chase is ecstatic you’re visiting me, and that’s only if he knows....”  
  
“He knows. He doesn’t care.” She shrugged. “We’ve been taking turns to help Foreman. It’s been good fun, now you’re not there.” 

“Oh I bet. Everyone does a _super job_ and everyone tries very hard.” He shakes his head and looks away. “Chase is probably stewing right now.” 

She sighed and folded her arms. “Want to know why Cuddy didn’t come?” 

“She wasn’t sure if she could resist me once I was off the Vicodin?” He let his fingers touch his thigh as he shook his head. “I don’t care.”

Cameron wasn’t surprised by this reaction either. “No, of course, you don’t.” 

“When did you become so bitchy?” He massaged his thigh, easing the sharp digging pain radiating from the quads and up and down to his knee, like a cooped up cat itching to get out of a box. She gave him the look, and he couldn’t help but smile. She was such a curious little thing to watch. “Go on, then, tell me.”

She shrugged, stepped over his legs and sat back in the chair opposite him. “She loves you.”   
  
“And you’re okay with that?” 

“That she might be mentally unstable too?” Another shrug, this time, less convincing. “If she starts talking to herself, then I might change my opinion.”

“Ha ha.”

“You love her?” She asked him, prodding for something, anything. House really looked at her, and he frowned. 

“No. You love me?”

“No.” He let a smile start to appear on his face and then stiffened. He hated that she’d changed. She would’ve at least danced around the answer before. Now everything was yes and no, right or wrong, black or white.

“I wish she didn’t.”

“Love you?” Cameron queried. He nodded and dropped his hand finally from his thigh. “I bet she wishes she didn’t love you either.” 

“Is this tough love?”

“You treat her like crap.” She frowned and picked at a hangnail on her left hand, rings twinkling in the light. “You liked her when she was chasing you. You liked me when I was...” Trailing off, she looked back at him. 

“Yes. I am that shallow.” House clarified for her while nudging the chair with his foot. Feeling the pressure build-up in his right leg distracted the pain for a second. He repeatedly clenched and relaxed his calf to get the same effect. Cameron and House watched the leg for a moment in the silence. House coughed. “Your honeymoon good?”

She smiled warmly and looked at the wall, imagining a very different place on the other side of the world. “Yes. You don’t care. You should call Cuddy.”

“After I call Wilson and the Pope to apologise for my wrongdoings I will. Number three on my list.”   
She leant forwards and looked him in the eye, the tangy pain of a strip of nail cutting into her skin forgotten. “Did you really pretend...?” She sighed. “I’ve got to go.” She collected her coat and slung it over her arm. The now-empty hessian bag clutched in the tiny left fist. “You want me to come back?”

“No.” 

She smiled at him. “I’ll see you next week, House.”

“Whatever.”


	3. Let's recap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Amber continues to accompany House around Mayfield, Cameron returns for a visit.

The sun was unusually bright. House sat on a bench in the partitioned area just outside his wing, with the only other patients far enough away that it was almost silent. Every so often the wind would catch the uneven metal table to his left, and rattle. He was okay.

Or he thought he was. 

It had been five minutes since the nurse last appeared; the pain was dull and manageable. If the sun carried on radiating heatwaves through his dark jeans and into his muscle, he'd be okay. 

"Greg." The nurse had returned to observe. "Pills."

"Hmph."  
  
He just _knew_ her hands had left her side and were now on her hips. Her pointy shoes tapped twice, and before he knew it, her silhouette appeared on the paving slabs to his right. "You better not be stashing them for a hit later." House snorted. She proceeded to reach across for the pills and placed it on the arm of his chair. "Who would've guessed you enjoyed being force-fed."

This was worse than his leg. He fisted the cup and swallowed the pills whole before scrunching the cup within his fingers and throwing it on the basketball court directly in front of them. "Okay?" He looked at her. She was the one he could almost stomach. Maybe it was her barely 30 torso or the plump lips and perky –he cringed and watched as she went to pick up the cup– taught little ass and all. 

"You staying out here?"

"Want to keep me company?"

"Your visitor should be here soon, I'll let you have some space." She gave him a sweet smile. "Don't let me catch you staring at my butt again, or I'll sedate you." 

"Well, don't flaunt it in front of me. I'm only human." 

She shook her head. "The woman is coming again? You stare at her ass too?" 

"Of course" He freely admitted that, but then scrunched his face up slightly. "Well, I stare at one of them." Her hand clutched his arm, and she shook her head.

"She still comes?"

He made a face. “Sometimes."

"Is there a pattern?"

He looked away from her, shrugging her hand off his arm as he did. "Read my notes. You're not my doctor." Another shake of the head and she left him on his own once more. Enjoying the sun as it set in the west. 

He closed his eyes briefly.

Five seconds at most. 

"This is getting boring," He flicked them open and stared directly towards the court. Amber was standing in the middle of it, pretending to dance around basketball players with an imaginary ball. "Especially when you can't feel the sun. Could you try to be a little more imaginative?”

"I'm fine."

Amber chuckled liberally. "Yes. Right. Fine." 

"I mean I'm comfortable, so you should be too." 

She let out a sigh, shot for the net and cheered. House closed his eyes. She stopped playing. ”That nurse is hot."  
  
"Stop it."

"Well, she is. I wonder if Thirteen knows her. We haven't seen some girl-on-girl action for a while." He cringed again. "Does Cameron swing the other way?" 

"What?" He opened his eyes. "No. I am not thinking that."

"I know we want her to be straight, well bi preferably. Adventurous: definitely."

"We don't want her to be anything." He clarified sternly. 

Amber skipped towards him, face to face, nose to nose. "You tried to kill her fiancé." 

"You tried.”

"We've been over this plenty of times. I am you. So yes, you agreed with your own suggestions. That's not a surprise."

"We've been through this." 

Amber shook her head and laughed. "You have problems."

"I have _a_ problem." He replied, before closing his eyes once more. When he opened them again, she was gone.   
  
A gentle shoe tap awoke him from an almost unconscious state, and he felt a cool breeze drift across his face. He heard her voice before he saw her.

"Thank you. I'll take it to him." 

"You're welcome, Dr Cameron. I'll be back soon." House remained motionless while Cameron shuffled towards the bench beside him; it still managed to creak under her tiny weight. He knew she was watching him. 

"Stop staring."

"Well stop pretending to sleep when I come to visit." She dropped something onto the floor. "It's getting old."

"Maybe I'm trying to tell you something." He muttered lightly, before exhaling a loud fake snore. Instead of huffing or arguing, she tapped his arm and waited for him to open his eyes. "What's with all this touching?" 

“House." 

He read the concern immediately. "What?"

“Pills." She offered him another cup. He stole them from her grasp, glanced at them before placing them on the opposite armrest. 

"Who knew that this place would be all for the pain relief?" He smiled cautiously but knew she'd already peeked at the two coloured tablets. She wasn't an idiot. 

"You aren't sleeping?" 

He looked away from her and sighed. "Yeah, turns out I'm in pain."

"Is... Amber, is she back?"

"No." 

"House." He let out a sigh and blinked slowly. The sun was barely visible over the treetops now. 

"She never left."

She squeezed his forearm again. Letting her hand linger as she thought of something to say, Cameron, realised she had nothing. "I'm sorry."

"I don't need your pity," He waved her off just he had done with the nurse. "Just go."

Cameron snapped, letting a noise of frustration bounce between them. "Stop fighting. Stop playing these stupid mind games! Stop refusing care from someone! You can't keep doing this House! Why won't you..."

In a moment of honesty, House lent forwards and shook his head. "I don't know." 

///~~~///

They moved inside. 

The glass panel doors from the visitor's room looked out to the central garden. There were finger smudges around the plastic handle, and splatters of dirt, where cleaning shoes had lost its charm. The smell of coffee awakened House's nostrils as if they had been dormant for months, and he spun to face Cameron who clutched two mugs carefully. 

The room was otherwise empty. She handed him his drink before joining him at the window. 

Their fingers had touched. House ignored the sudden rush of adrenaline, the hitched breath that slipped from her mouth, and the smile almost on her face. The pureness of her right hand was unobstructed by metal bands.

He looked back outside. "It looks like it'll rain soon."

"Yeah"

Outside had become too tense for both of them, emotionally too much for House. He was unstable at the best of times, and now... well. He sipped from the white mug and sighed slowly. Decaf, of course, caffeine would only wreck his already broken sleep. House would sell a kidney for a good coffee right now. 

He watched Cameron gulp, the taste hitting her throat, she's looks down at the mug in disgust. 

She won't say anything.   
  
"Chase expecting you at home?" 

Cameron did not meet his gaze as he twisted his neck to see her reaction. She looked bored with the question. “Surgery."

"Oh." 

"He'll be back home after me." She concluded, before risking another sip. 

"That's..." House turned to face the bench he'd been sitting on outside. "Good." She sighed and finally gave up on her drink, placing it on a side table littered with kind leaflets. _'Looking after a loved one.'_ The table was bolted to the ground. _For her safety?_ Cameron played with the collar of her shirt before stretching.

"We lost a patient yesterday. I was right. Results of the biopsy I did came back positive."

"And yet you feel guilty?"

"No! No..." She muttered something too low and soft for him to decipher. "...I did my job. If Foreman had waited for my lab... it's not my fault.”

He nodded and placed his coffee down to join hers on the table. The action of bending across in front of Cameron allowed him to brush against her jacket.

Neither said nor felt anything that time. 

"You want me to reassure you that not feeling guilty is a good thing- the right thing?"

Cameron sighed and looked him in the eye. "I don't." She paused letting her fingers fall from their place on her arm and into a loose knot under her chest. "I don't want to be a diagnostician anymore.”

"I gathered that from your resignation 2 years ago. But- hmm. You do send mixed signals" House replied with a hint of amusement, a twinkle in his eye. It fell flat. 

"I like Foreman. As a person. But I, I don't trust him. He races from one extreme to another. Overly cautious and then over the top. I don't –I can't trust him not to make the wrong call."

"You trusted me?"

Her cheeks became a rosy tint, and she looked away from him. "Yes."

"Let me recap... you trusted me, the guy," He pointed to himself, "who is now locked up in a mental institution to make the right decision?" 

She smiled and clarified her point. "You never made the right decision straight away, and it was always radical. I knew where I stood with you."

He sighed and shook his head. "That isn't the right decision."

"I know." Cameron looked back out at the gathering clouds above. Spots appeared on the paving. "I was right: it's raining." He nodded in agreement before turning back to the window. There was another pause. "You should give Cuddy a chance."

"We're back to where we were last week."

"I think if she likes you, and you like her-"

He tapped his cane against the floor. "Just because you can stomach seeing your husband as a co-worker, doesn't mean the rest of us can.”

"There must be something between you?"

"Yeah." House chuckled dryly. "Who knew one night between Cuddy's thighs would haunt me for the rest of-" He stopped. Cameron's eyes and mouth wide with surprise. "Ah."

"You did sleep with Cuddy?"

"Considering that a young, very eager and flexible Cuddy brings up stunning visuals, I don't remember that much. It was a long time ago. We didn't suit each other back then, and we don't suit each other now." He paused to look her in the eyes "Drop it, or I'll start taunting you about Chase." She smiled pleasantly. 

"Is that why you get away with so much?"

"I think I have tenure." He replied automatically. "What do you see in Chase?" 

"Why do you care?" 

He shook his head and sighed. "Is this just a big rouse so that we don't talk about this?" He gestured to the room. "I am okay with that."

"No you aren't." Cameron quickly answered. "You don't want to ever talk about _Amber_."

"You called?" House felt his stomach and heart constrict inside, he closed his eyes and willed the voice to disappear. No such luck. "Okay you didn't call me, but pretty little Cameron did. I was wondering when I would meet her again. Not much fun talking about her."

When he opened his eyes, his gaze caught Cameron's once more. She held her breath, fingers delicately splayed over her mouth, eyes wide and fearful. "Oh I'm so sorry House. I didn't mean..." 

Amber tiptoed behind him, her voice carrying over his shoulder. "Aww look at her, she's scared for you. I bet she still thinks she can fix your broken heart and now your head." A cool, sharp laugh entered the air. 

"What?" House asked Cameron carefully, hoping not to reveal his fear on hearing Amber again, but he knew that Cameron could read him like an open book. He shook his head. "It's nothing."

Her hand left her face and jolted out between them, then stopped, then edged a little closer and then stopped again. Finally, after some internal deliberation she moved forwards and fell into his awkward stance, her fingers biting in the back of his shirt. Cameron let her body mould against his as she rested her chin on his shoulder. "It not nothing House." She whispered gently, hoping it would get through. 

Amber trotted around the pair, face showing genuine shock and excitement. All at once. "You look so adorable together." She taunted before stepping close to Cameron's back. "Well she makes anything look adorable. Shame, we didn't have her when we had the chance you know. Taught little ass, long, long legs and pretty blonde hair. Mmm..." Amber closed her eyes gently, resembling a slow blink before she turned to House and came within inches of brushing her fingers down Cameron's back. "You could corrupt her in an instant. We could do anything to her. Show her who is boss," A titter of a laugh escaped from her mouth. "Stop her from idolising you, get her off your case, and get off at the same time."

House clenched and stepped back from the hold and gave a look over Cameron's shoulder, watching Amber pretend to play with Cameron's hair. He cleared his throat and sighed. "I don't want you to come here anymore."

"Why? Was it because I hugged you?"

"No. I don't want to be reminded..." He trailed off. "You should go home to your husband." He turned around back to the window and tapped the pane impatiently. "Just leave." 

Feeling lost and rejected, Cameron frowned but nodded. She left silently, leaving House and Amber alone in the room. Amber smiled at him in a way only she knew. "Cameron makes you feel bad, right? You want her, but you can't have her." 

The only sound in reply was House's head connecting loudly with the glass. 


	4. Let's take charge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House continues to recover. His delightful internal monologue, also known as Amber, is no longer as frequent a visitor, but he is joined by others instead. He's not a fan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for taking a chance and reading this fanfic, as always any feedback is welcome. We're going on a long journey here, so please bear with me!

House did not want any visitors, and he had voiced that feeling several times. Although he’d been coping well with the new cocktail of drugs, with just Ibuprofen now flowing through his bloodstream he felt worse than he usually was. Which was saying something. 

He chewed on an apple stolen from the fruit bowl at reception and watched a pair of fingers opposite tap on thighs. At the same time, he stomped around the room, warming his leg up to room temperature. 

“House, could you stand still for a moment?”

“Nope”

“Well at least...” A huff and slap of a palm against the table sparked House’s mind into gear. He looked across the room again. “You think you could help?”

“Nope”

“You... don’t have an idea what could be wrong?”

“No. I said, I don’t think I can help. Not that I don’t know what is wrong.”

Foreman gave that look he always appeared to give when House was being especially jerky and shook his head. 

“What do you think is wrong?” 

“Are you asking for my help?” 

The neurologist shook his head and quickly changed the words formulated in his head. “Your _advice_.”

House stopped and chewed on another chunk of apple. “Blue vomit equals rat poison. Your patient is going to bleed out and die. You better get back before he flatlines, and make sure his parents sob goodbye.” 

“Tox screen is clean.” 

“Right. Well, blue vomit equals rat poison-”

“House” 

He sighed and bit into the apple again. Through the chomping and slurping of apple juice, he spoke. “How blue was it? Blue like a blueberry, or like a cornflower? Blue like my eyes?" He flattered them dramatically.

Taub thought for a moment. "Not dark - it wasn't blood related. Light blue."

"Like my eyes?"

A sigh. "Yes."

"So... white vomit, plus something blue - I assumed you checked he hadn't swallowed all the blue sour patch kids?" A nod from the group. "Did you say they went to a farmers market?"

Foreman nodded. "But we checked for common toxic and heavy metals. Pesticides, cleaning agents. Nothing."

"People put flowers on everything nowadays, I bet you they were handed something with 'edible flowers' on it - except they're not, they're Delphiniums. Causes the initial stomach pain / cramping - naturally it's a blue dye, and maybe he had some red cabbage as well, both make a lovely foamy blue bile."

"But that would just cause the stomach pain?" House started to march again.

"Right, but if the ol' family stand food contain poison flowers, I'll take a leap and say there's probably some other nasty cross-contamination. You need to find out where they ate, and track down grandma's pie recipe. That’s my advice.” Another bite of the apple. “Can we get back to me now? I’m sure this is just some crappy side story, and you really want to know if I’m still talking to my evil less-sexy twin.”

Thirteen had been sitting next to Taub on the only sofa in the room. Both had been quietly watching their boss pace back and forth. She decided to take the bait. “I take it you aren't?”

“Not for four days,” He crossed his fingers in front of them and smiled genuinely. “It might be just because I’m doped out on so much other good stuff that I just don’t notice her anymore.”

“Well, that’s... um... something.”

The room paused as another doctor entered, causing all three visitors to stand up and make an awkward exit. 

“Greg,” House acknowledged the older doctor and paced around the room once before sitting on the chair, adjacent to the sofa. He watched as Dr. Nolan sat down, file in hand, and smiled. “You’re doing well.”

“Right.”

“It’s okay to accept praise Greg. This is a good thing.” Dr Nolan continued looking through his latest file. “Your mind is healing. You’re getting better.” 

“I gathered that from all the healing that has been going on and Amber not appearing as often.”

“Not appearing at all, right?” The doctor verified, hoping that their prognosis was still valid.

“4 days... I’ve gone a few days without seeing her before; forgive me if I’m not jumping for joy –bad leg and all.”

The doctor smiled. “We’re putting you stronger painkiller dose. The SSIDs dose will stay the same. We’ve also booked you for another water heat treatment. It might be worthwhile.”

“Good I’m...” House stopped his trail of thought and spluttered. “What?”

“Jacuzzi,” The doctor clarified gently. “It did you well last time.”

“No. You know that’s not what I’m talking about. The SSIDs?”

“You’ve been on SSIDs since your admittance alongside the withdrawal regime.” 

“What?” House stood up and stared at the doctor intently. 

“Greg?”

“Don’t Greg Me.” He pointed with his cane, just out of reach so it couldn’t be snatched out of his grasp. “I thought we agreed you were telling me what was happening to my body.”

There was a brief silence, and then the Nolan spoke, soft tone and all. “You’re no longer on Vicodin, and you’re no longer hallucinating.” 

“Right.”

House paused. Nolan did exactly what he would have done. Very him. How he didn't notice it as part of his drug cocktail mixture, he wasn't so sure. His anger dissipated as thought back to the last time he’d been in the wet room; the steam and bubbles were surprisingly soothing, and a frustrated nurse with an almost see-through shirt the cherry on his cake.

He nodded his acceptance and headed to the Jacuzzi. 

This time when he felt the gentle air pockets massage his body and saw the young woman try to dry her top and hair, he smirked appreciatively.

House was incredibly good at holding a grudge and the patchy knowledge concerning his treatment would typically result in some severe grudge-holding, but he didn’t actually feel any reason to attack anyone personally. The room was wonderfully stuffy and steamy, a good kind that had been the result of a long hot bath. The misty mirror proved no help to House as he dried his face, and he started to scrub at the short hairs on the bottom of his hairline, moving it upwards in short, sharp jolts. He checked his face by wiping the condensation away with a dry flannel, noticing that his eyes were dark, bloodshot and surrounded by puffy skin. 

He didn’t care. Pulling his boxer shorts up, he partly slipped on an old t-shirt and checked his stomach before pulling it down completely. 

Although his abdominals had been taut and smooth for most of his adult life, the muscle was now soft and supple. He hadn’t gained any weight; in fact, it had been falling off since he’d arrived, but he no longer felt as good as he had. 

The knock on the door did not surprise him. Since very few doors had locks on them in the building, he felt no need to turn around and greet the intruder. 

“Greg,” 

Beasley nodded at him with a smile. “You have another visitor.” House picked up the towel again and dried his hair some more, forgoing putting on the pair of jeans he’d selected to change into for a long as possible. The room was quiet except for the sound of water dripping from a leaky tap. “Greg.”

“Right.” He finally replied, not turning to face her. “I’m well aware, well as well as an insane person can be, that unless you doped me and I’ve been asleep for four days, I’ve had my visitor for this week.”

“Yes.”

“So, unless my deducing skills are completely out of whack, there is only one person who can be visiting me.”

“So are you going to put on some pants and come see them?”

“No.” The doctor stuttered and walked further into the room. “Greg he’s-" “Made me wait long enough, he can sit like a good boy for another 5 minutes.” House turned to face her and shook his head. “Is he alone?”

“Yes, he is. You’ll see him?" House shrugged, and let Beasley leave without a further comment. The puff of cooler air generated from the swing door made him shiver.

///~~~///

The room was darker.

He could see that through the safety glass panel in the door. A lamp on the side table was lighting up one corner, and he couldn’t see the other end. He knew he would have to go inside, and felt for the doorknob and twisted it anti-clockwise. House’s stomach dropped several feet into the ground, as he let the door swing on its hinges and heard a throat being cleared. He stepped into the room and turned to face the opposite wall.

Nolan approached him quickly and smiled. 

“Greg. No sudden movements, all right? We still have a lot of physical therapy to get through.” House clenched his teeth as the man smiled, taking it as an acknowledgement to leave. Nolan spun on a heel and smiled at the other figure in the room. “James, when you’re ready, I’ll be in my office.” House looked across and stared directly at the exchange.

Once left alone, he cleared his throat. “You look good.” Wilson supplied softly, his fingers forming significant impressions into the soft arm of the chair.

“It’s hooker Thursday.” 

Wilson did not smile but nodded. “Free hookers?”

“BOGOF,” House replied automatically while scratching the top of his hand that held his cane. The gap between them was at least a small sofa in length, a cold pause settled among them. He stopped scratching and tilted his head. “Why now?”

Wilson sighed and stood up from the chair, pushing his hands further into the upholstery for aid before scratching the back of his head –one nervous tell after another. “He told me you’re completely clean.”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve never been clean before.”

“I’ve never been locked up in an insane asylum either.” House watched his friend flick his eyes from his to the floor, and then to the lamp behind him.

With a rush of vowels and consonants, Wilson blurted out, “I was scared I was triggering things for you.”

“Triggering what?” House asked, slits of pupils poking through eyelid and burning into Wilson’s cheekbone. He finally looked at his friend.

“Who are you hallucinating House? My dead girlfriend. When you- I mean the last time I visited… I didn’t want to undo everything you managed to achieve.”

“It’s the Vicodin. Stop thinking everything is much bigger than it is.” House turned ninety degrees and looked back out of the glass doors. Another moment of silence passed before he felt Wilson’s presence a lot closer than it had been before -maybe half a chair between them now at most.

A flutter of brown hair flapped as Wilson shook his head. He sighed and gave a reluctant sad smile. “Then why didn’t you check yourself into rehab?"

An hour may have passed between them, or five minutes. House wasn’t sure. His watch was back on his bedside table, carefully undone and left behind so that the steam from the Jacuzzi couldn’t destroy its inner workings. He noticed that he had a ring of paler skin where it usually resided and touched it absently while finding a comfortable position on the chair to the left of Wilson’s. He breathed in and out slowly. Thinking.

“People die,” House said softly watching as his fingers began to tap out a melody on his wrist. “All the time. You go through it all the time.” Wilson rolled his eyes but let his friend get to his point, which he knew would appear soon enough. “Even I have patients die on me occasionally. Then Amber died, my dad, Kutner killed himself, and I kept on thinking.” He looked at his friend. “Why doesn’t it affect me? That’s why I agreed to come here. Because as much as I wanted it – _needed it_ \- to be because of Vicodin... I also hoped it was my reaction to these people dying. Then at least I know I’d been feeling something.” He shook his head. “I feel deeply about things which most people don’t care about and push other things away, which should mean more.”

“You’ve always done that.” Wilson reasoned, but House was far from accepting. He let out another sigh.

“Maybe I don’t want to keep on _not_ feeling things.”


	5. Let's rearrange the bookshelves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House starts physiotherapy. He receives a letter and contemplates the past and future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As mentioned at the beginning, the start of this story is about House's growth from rehab, and he does need to take some time to find his footings in this new world. Since these chapters are hugely House-centric, I'll make sure to post more regularly to bridge the Cameron-light ness.

There was a click, and House cried out once before he toppled on to the floor. With legs twisted beneath him, he felt for some resistance, anything to push against so he could at least flip off his right quad. A pair of strong exposed arms appeared, and he found himself being flipped on to his back. 

“I told you not to increase the resistance.” The bare-armed man said before bending down so he could lift House up into a sitting position. House grunted and jumped up on to his left foot swinging his other leg gently as he did. “We’re taking it easy remember, you do that again, and you won’t even make it as far to step over the saddle.” 

The exercise bike was another thing to add to House’s ‘never again’ list. 

“I need some morphine. Stat.”

“Yeah yeah,” The guy mumbled before pointing to a weights machine. “10 reps each arm. Go.”

“Slave-driver.” House spat back before moving over to the chair and getting comfortable. Arm exercises were something he did enjoy, and was good at too. He started with his left arm and watched the physiotherapist dry his hands on a towel and lean against the machine opposite. He was called Dean, in his early thirties, and he put up with any remarks House threw at him; it was a match made in heaven. “You slept with that tech in pharmacy yet?” He said, tensing his bicep and watching it bubble and rise as a result. 

“House stop talking.” He was also the only one who called him by his preferred name, something to do with the military background. Maybe he wanted to be kind. House wasn’t sure. 

“Don’t get bitchy with me. I told you she was gay.” 

"Wh-a" Dean stuttered before shaking his head. “No you didn’t, and how would you know?” 

“Gay-dar” House replied automatically while switching to the other arm. “Also I have a bi-sexual on my staff; they checked each other out when she came to visit.” 

“A bi-sexual?” Dean was always amused by House’s antics; he was far more exciting and a far more significant challenge than the other members of his physio group. “You call your staff by their sexuality now?” 

“No, I just thought calling her by name might not convince you of my extensive knowledge of lesbians.” He paused. “Which I have.” 

“I do believe you,” He walked towards him and pointed to the floor. “We’ll do some stretches now.”

“Oh, goodie.”

Dean prepared the floor with mats and let House get comfortable on his back. Dean rolled his eyes. “Come on, leg up, you know the drill” House’s sneaker sole left the floor and pressed into Dean’s thigh. House cringed as he manipulated it. The pain was different, achy and yet sharp too. He made fists and gritted his teeth. “Don’t be a wuss about it.” 

“Not having half a thigh is not me being a wuss. Actually, I am in pain.” 

“Right and why is it worse than it ever could have been? Because you never did your full term of physio after the infarction.”

House breathed in deeply and growled. “You’re no fun.” Dean smiled and pushed into this leg again, watching the thigh as it flexed and relaxed just like the arm movement previous. The room was littered with many pieces of gym equipment, all relatively new apart from the set of mats stacked in the corner. They seemed to be decaying quickly because of some reaction between a pre-1950s material and the air-conditioned air, which was quite musty but deliciously fresh. House had used the majority of weight machines, but most of the cardio equipment was not going to be of use to him. He tried to ignore the two treadmills standing blazingly apparent against the wall next to the window. Still, occasionally he would find himself staring at them. 

“On your side,” Dean said, letting his grip on House’s ankle lessen at he twisted to his left. House felt at ease in the room, because he didn’t have to share it with anyone or at least no one while he was using it. Gyms were notorious for competitiveness and his bum leg was not going to help him win any physical bets any time soon. In an insane asylum however, House almost had the upper hand. “Are you being introspective again?”

“What?”

“You’re quiet. Either you’re planning to prank me, or you’re thinking.”

“I wouldn’t sit down on that bench if I was you.” House supplied, winking at him as he did. 

“Oh so that’s how it is, you push and prod, but when someone asks you how you are it’s: deflect, deflect, deflect.”

“Stop with psycho-analysing. You forget you’re wearing running shorts, not a lab coat.” Dean checked himself while House rolled on to his back again. 

“That’s why you’re the diagnostician, no wonder they ask you to work out the clever stuff.”

“Dean?”

“Yeah, House?”

“Shut up.”

///~~~///

The main building was far enough away that House could only see a grey smudge of shapes. He sat on a bench that creaked under his weight and pulled out a piece of paper from his jacket pocket. A nurse stood not too far away with another man, a little bit older, a smidgen shorter and a lot less coherent. He had a name, sure, but House had not asked for it. 

While the weather was still playing fair, House had an urge to go out into the grounds and lose himself for a while. For someone who genuinely enjoyed solidarity, the constant intrusion of staff was something that House knew could only hinder his recovery. The piece of paper was light yellow, maybe cream, with crisp black ink letters. He unfolded it delicately and turned to see if the nurse was watching him. Naturally, her attention was on the other patient hoping to kill a bird sitting in the tree behind them. Another male nurse was helping to take a small stone from the man’s grasp. 

_House,_

_I am not sure if you’ll read this, or screw it up and throw it in the nearest bin, but I needed to write. I know you don’t want me to be there. Still, then again I’m not sure if realistically your stance on matters concerning visitors is actually a cry for help. You’re always sending mix messages, and I’m worried that my House-English is not as good as it was, has been, or could be. Therefore, against my own better judgement, I’m writing, and I know you’ll find this incredibly amusing. For one thing, you hate letters. I know too well that you hate reading them, writing them, and here I am making you think about doing both._

_The prognosis surrounding your treatment is fantastic. I know you’ll cringe, but I am happy for you. Wilson has been very quiet on the matter, though he knows I want to know everything, so I’ve been liaising with the Dean and the head of your treatment. I would name names, but I also know that you would probably not know whom I am talking about. I’ve heard that your physiotherapy is helping, but I don’t doubt you are against every single session. Your stubbornness is outstanding sometimes._

_I sometimes think back to our last conversation. It shouldn’t have happened in the way it did, but I know without it I’d possibly still be tip-toeing around and hoping for something to happen. Nevertheless, you’ve taken a step without me. Which is good. I know things have changed, but we’ll never have the conversation to work out what has and hasn’t happened. Because that’s what it is like, and always will be. I wish you all the best._

_Don’t think you need to reply._

_Cuddy_

House refolded the letter and sighed. He thought he was the king of talking about everything but the issue in question. Still, Cuddy was obviously an excellent example. He wasn’t sure what to make of her last paragraph, and didn’t want to think about what she actually wanted. Him? Maybe. Did he want her?

He wasn't so sure. He did hallucinate sleeping with her, although it was incredibly fuzzy now. In fact, the whole evening was a mixture of swallowing pills and feeling good, and believing he was throwing up and shivering on the bathroom floor. He touched his forehead and applied pressure to relieve the beginnings of a headache. But then again he was back to his original dilemma. He didn’t feel anything, or at least anything beyond the physical. She was hot and he was looking for his next fix. Kissing and sex were good. Did he miss the affection, and the hugging and the waking up next to someone? 

The small pebble that had been dropped after the nurse had removed it from the patient’s hand had just connected with House’s back, ricocheting into the grass behind him. House turned and watched as both members of staff were scolding the man now stood giggling. It stung a little, but really, it was nothing. 

House turned back to a book that sat on the bench beside his left thigh. Its bookmark was a newspaper cutting confirming a revolutionary drug was being trialled in the Oncology department at PPTH. He kept it because Wilson had his eyes shut in the photograph and he could see Cuddy’s bra through her white shirt. The little girl in the picture came off well, considering she had just finished a round of chemo. He brushed his fingers over the tired dustcover, playing with the torn corner and knowing if he made it worse, he’d regret it later.

_You will die - and it will all be over. You will die and find out everything - or cease asking._

House pushed the book away and fell backwards in the benches hold, its creaks louder than before. He closed his eyes and felt the sun beat down on to his tired face.

A moment later, much like any other time House found some time alone, a finger prodded him in the arm. He opened one eye and spotted the female nurse looking at him. Luckily for him it was the barely thirty, very appealing one, not the six foot four bodybuilding male on staff.  
  
“Tom wants to take Andy back, and because it would mean leaving one-on-one, usually I’d have to say your time is up too. But I’m pretty sure I can tackle you if you want to try anything stupid. Unless of course you want to go back?”

House smirked and yawned. “I’ll be a good boy.” The nurse rolled her eyes and then gestured for the other to return to the building. A bird appeared on the path just in front of House’s shoes, now a lot more comfortable as the threat of being pelted with rocks was gone. He watched it jolt and hop across each time a little longer in the same place before it jetted off back up to the tree. Home. “Do you think the Boss will sign on the dotted line next week, or am I going to be stuck here with you for another month?”

“Do you think you’re better?” She asked with a smile, noting the book on the other side of him before curling her legs beneath the seat. 

“You think I’m still insane?”

“I’m not your doctor, remember? She shook her head. “No hallucinations or delusions, even though you still have a perverse sense of reality. I was just asking you. Do you feel better?” 

“I’ve been treated successfully. There is nothing wrong with me.”

“Then why don’t you sign out? You know your stay here is voluntary.”

House shook his head. “I need the clearance so I can go back to work. There’s no point in me leaving till I have that.” 

She looked at him as he thought, so when he turned to look at her he met her eyes and warm smile. “I think the Boss will sign on the dotted line.”

He let out a long-held breath and nodded. “Let’s hope so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for taking the time to read, it's really good to get this story off my laptop drafts, finally.


	6. Let's go home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House finally finds his way home. It feels different.

House touched the leather satchel and let it crease beneath his fingers, it was too smooth and soft to have come from a regular retailer. He wanted to smell it, breathe in the scent of good cowhide. It made him wonder how long he would have to spend sitting in the plastic chair. A gentle hand pressed into his shoulder, and then Wilson sat to his right, light brown jacket flung over its arm.

“One coffee,” Wilson said, tossing three sachets of sugar onto the table beside it. Two for him, one for House. House reached for it, sighed before letting his fingers play with the sugar instead. 

“Good.” 

“You wanted sugar, right?” To mask the taste of decaf, yeah he did. House nodded and proceeded to tip the paper pillow of sweetness side to side, and then he tore its top and let the contents fall into the pool of brown liquid. “Have you packed up your stuff?”

“No.”

“Huh.”

House glanced across to his friend and gave a look. “What?”

“Just. I guess I’m surprised.”

“No, you’re not,” House replied, finally grasping the cup in his right hand. “I’m acting myself. Why would that surprise you?”

The door opened abruptly. Three men, one conversing on the phone, another swallowing a last mouthful of coffee, and the third remaining silent and reluctant to enter, walked through its opening and proceeded to adopt the chairs on the other side of the desk. The phone call finished as soon as the silent one coughed, and the empty cup of coffee found a new home in the trash. House stirred his coffee with a plastic spoon and then managed a sip before reaching for Wilson’s other sachet of sugar. Wilson quickly snatched it back and proceeded to promptly open and pour it into his own coffee.

“Good Morning, we shall keep this short and sweet.” The files laid out on the desk held by the silent one opened simultaneously. House’s medical records –duplicated and copied again for luck flittered back and forth between the top pages. “We have drawn several conclusions from your stay here at Mayfield. Most of which are positive. You have successfully been through medical rehabilitation, of which you are no longer receiving Vicodin for combating your pain. 

“As a result, the hallucinations and delusions you were getting because of over-medicating are no longer a symptom. We are aware that you have been through assisted detox before, and have had numerous challenges that may cause a rebound.” He paused and looked at House over the rim of a pair of spectacles. “On re-activating your medical licence, we recommend remote and physical check-ins with your attending psychiatrist, and..." he paused to let the last point sink in. "We will also run drug test sampling until your next review.” 

House looked up at the three doctors and sighed. He was very aware that drug testing would be a condition to return as a practising doctor. There was relatively very little he could do about it either. As much a Nolan annoyed him, he could suffer a phone call every so often. 

After a few moments of silence and ignoring the apparent stare Wilson was directing at him, House nodded once.

“Okay.”

///~~~///

When the engine reduced its growling to a gentle purr, and House set his left foot down on the ground, Wilson approached from behind a large ambiguous statue. Turning the key and kicking the stand into place, House removed his helmet and shook his head on seeing his friend. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” Wilson said, a face half of amusement, half frustration.

“No, well, let’s just say I missed clinic duty.” Wilson allowed himself to step into House’s shadow and placed a hand on the throttle. 

“You have a week off.”

“From what?” House asked while he swung his leg over and stood up in a swoop. He retrieved the cane from its position on the side of the bike. “I’ve had enough time relaxing thanks.”

Wilson did not move until House did, and then he managed to keep in the other man’s path. “Go home. You aren’t allowed to work until next week.”

“I can chart, though, right?” House replied, faking a right step before quickly stepping left and around Wilson towards the entrance. Wilson spun on his foot and found himself jogging to catch up. Once in stride, he sighed. 

“If you want to do charting then I’ll bring you some home. House,” He grabbed his friend’s sleeve, pulling him back so he could talk to him properly. “What are you doing here?”

House pulled Wilson’s fingers from his arm and tapped his cane on the floor. “Dean recommended I keep up with the weight training, so I don’t start feeling even shittier now I have to move about more. I’m not joining a gym, and at least I can berate anyone who starts trying to talk to me here. If I stay on my own, I’ll end up back in Mayfield.”

Wilson wasn’t entirely convinced, but he had nothing that would have contradicted his actions. “Oh-kay. That’s all you’re here for?”

“That’s all I’m here for. Can I go now, mom?”

Wilson shrugged. “I guess you’ll need to eat after your workout. Lunch?” 

House nodded and then moved off to the lobby. Wilson followed at a much slower pace. 

The sizeable physical therapy rehabilitation centre was a newish addition to the PPTH McCormick Wing. The gym, treatment rooms and therapy pools had been on the site before, they were now all contained on the second floor, along with new staff changing rooms and cleaning facilities. It was all state of the art, and usually empty. Both points were very appealing to House.

He pushed back against the wall and reached for the two metal handles on the side of the pool. Letting his legs kick gently against the warm water, he set the submerged treadmill to slow. He began to walk while holding the rail and smiled, the weightless feeling the water provided made it a comfortable experience. His thumb increased the speed by one. The room the treatment pool was in was small and crowded with similar apparatus. A hot and cold plunge pool was situated on one side, and a hot tub was on the other. It was hot and steamy, but the water was just warm enough to keep him comfortable. 

He walked for about 20 minutes before turning off the treadmill and pushing off onto his back, letting himself float in the silence of the room. The water pressing into his tired thigh was a good feeling. Not Vicodin good, but good enough that he could doze a little while floating. He could hear the generator in the background kicking in and felt calm. 

The feeling of not being watched day in day out while living in a room not much larger than his office was slightly euphoric in resemblance. It was a dizzying feeling he could do what he wanted when he wanted again. 

Although his newfound freedom was the reason why he sat in the pool at work during a week off. He was bored.

Shaking his wet hair, he stood upright and reached for the metal bannister and pulled himself on to the first rung on the ladder. Under no circumstances would he use the chair to slide in, regardless of how painful it could be to get out of the pool. He dried his head with the nearest towel and pondered whether to change or to take advantage of the hot tub. On checking the time on the wall clock, he quickly pressed buttons and watched the endless stream of bubbles begin to rise to the surface. 

Again, it didn’t hold his attention for long. 

He decided to walk back to the changing rooms. Just before he entered the male area, he reached for a decorative rail above his head to stretch his spine, the cane discarded to the wall beside him. 

“And here I thought you wouldn’t be back yet.” House let go and turned to face Cameron, who was wiping her face with a towel. She was dressed in black leggings and a vest top and shined from sweat in the neon light. He blinked to clear something from his mind.

“I like to keep you all on your toes.” He paused to look her over, knowing full well she could feel his stare. “You have time to exercise here too? And here I thought you just didn’t eat.”

“I was given a slice of chocolate cake today,” She smirked and let her fingers curl into her side. “Didn’t want it to settle for too long.”

“And I believe you.” He replied, reaching for his cane for a distraction. 

“No one mentioned you were back,” Cameron continued, a little hesitant, a little light-headed. 

“Wilson and his bloodhound of a nose know. No one else.” They both were silent. Cameron breathed heavier, House lighter. He then tapped his cane and nodded. “You on a lunch break?”

Cameron nodded. “ER is quiet. Felt like taking my full-time allowance for once.”

“Right.” House nodded. 

“Are you staying all day?”

He shook his head. “Not planning to, going to go and get something to eat. I might go and harass the Pharmacy guy for fun, see if he’s been updated on the situation.”

Cameron smiled and stepped forward, one, two three. “I wanted to congratulate you on... you know...”

“Thanks.”

She looked down to the floor, perhaps undecided, and then she was suddenly adamant. “I’ve still got a bit of time, would you... coffee?”

“I am meant to be eating lunch with Wilson.” She nodded. “But as long as you’re willing to pay for a large cappuccino with extra foam I’m game.”

Another nod. “I’ll meet you outside.”

Cameron sat on a bench making up a square of seating and played with the handles on her bag. Flipping them from left to right, she then peered inside and rooted around for her lip balm. The harsh air-conditioning in the gym dried her lips out pretty quickly, and it took many a reapplication of lotion to rescue them. 

She’d been sitting for about 10 minutes, wet hair quickly towel-dried before it was twisted into a bun, and loose hair framed her face. She checked her watch. House had been behind the door of the male changing room for a lot longer than she thought possible. Unless...

Her stomach flipped, and she stood up. He had fallen in the shower. 

She was suddenly adamant, that was the case. 

Ignoring the harsh lettering that advised her that her gender had their own room, further down from here, she pushed the swing door and rushed to where she could imagine the showers being. If it mirrored theirs, it would be at the back of the room. 

“This better not be a practical joke House.” She said; her voice echoed as it bounced around the empty walls. “You jump out on me, and I swear I’ll disfigure something of your anatomy.” There was no response. “And as an ER doc, I can do it pretty quickly too.” She spotted a shadow or a man move and the whispering of voices. Maybe Wilson had cornered him. She smiled and picked up the pace. “Nice try.” She said on turning the corner. A smile still etched on her pretty, if not slightly tired, face. 

Cuddy’s head snapped up from staring at House, who was sitting on the bench in the centre of the corridor of lockers and jumped. Her fingers retracted into a fist, her back almost hitting an open locker door behind her. 

“Dr. Cameron?”

“Uh.” Cameron rolled her eyes and smirked at House. “Dr. Cuddy. I see you’ve found him.” House smirked back and continued to put on a pair of socks. 

“Yes.” She glanced back at her employee and frowned. Some confusion, some disappointment. “Shouldn’t you be somewhere?”

“Right. Work.” Cameron shook her head; she found the whole situation amusing. She turned back to House who was uncharacteristically quiet. “I spoke to the pharmacy director this morning, he knows and is expecting you to try and make his new co-worker cry. He’s already changed the arrangement of all the medicine so you can’t just grab some for fun.”

House snorted. “But I can still read signs. Amateur.” 

Cameron nodded with another grin. “Good day House. Dr Cuddy.” 

The older woman nodded. 

Returning to the ground floor, Cameron couldn’t help but laugh. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> House is back at PPTH, and Cameron has made an appearance. Apologies that Cameron has only very slowly started joining the story, but I promise now that he's back in Princeton their paths will cross more regularly!
> 
> Thanks again for reading <3


	7. Let's take a chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chase and Cameron talk specialities, drink bad coffee, and House needs some chewing gum.

Cameron drew her nail through water residue that begun at her coffee cup and skidded towards a ring of droplets. She had turned the innocent-looking shapes into a shooting star and then brushed them away with the back of her hand. Her fingers were damp.

Chase was complaining again. 

“So I said to Bleaker, ‘Sure, do what you want, but I’m not cleaning up after you again’. I’m getting fed up with being put on call all the time. With you doing night shifts back to back, and me always being put on those stupid new rotas... I never get to see you.” He had curled his fingers around his own cup of coffee as he spoke, then slowly he dropped one hand, letting it slide over towards Cameron’s. It cradled hers so that only the tips of her fingers peeked out from under his wrist. She looked into his eyes and smiled. 

“It’s the job.”

“Right” He had let go of her hand. Hers had also retreated. She sipped at her coffee. The cafeteria had emptied slowly since they’d arrived, and now there was barely a scattering left in the large room. “I’m thinking of moving.”

Cameron stopped drinking, paused to let the cup find the table and then furrowed her eyebrows. “Moving?”

“Jobs.” He clarified quickly, sensing her concern. “Cuddy mentioned that the Neo-natal unit is looking for someone to head the department when Dr Sing retires. When I was there, it was good. I... it was stressful, the cases, you knew that you wouldn’t always be successful. But it was rewarding.” He looked at her. “I want to head up my own department, I’m ready –have been ready for years- it’s my speciality.”

“Good. I mean that sounds great.” Cameron decided to touch his knuckles; she leant forwards and pinched his skin lightly. “You should. You’re an excellent doctor. When will you go?” 

“Some time in the next few weeks. They’re planning a surprise party for the old guy. I suppose I need to go now.”

“I’m sure it’ll be nice, don’t make it sound worse than it is.” 

“Uh. Yeah. It’s still going to be a lot of white-haired consultants moaning about the price of gas.” 

Cameron laughed and moved her hand back again. “You complain about it all the time.”

“Yeah, well...” Chase scratched his arm and then started to fold the unused napkin into a paper aeroplane. “Anyway, I thought you should know. It’s an important decision.”

Cameron nodded and looked into her coffee, a little too bitter, but it was still drinkable. Then, as if her brain had sat on idle for a while, she flicked her eyes back to Chase’s. He was naturally watching her. She squinted and made a face. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Yeah right, Chase.”

He tried to show a look of innocence, but it fell off his face and directly into the puddle of sugar he’d spilt earlier. “I saw you talking to House’s team yesterday. Asking how they were coping.”

“I’m concerned.” She replied, defensively. She folded her arms.

“You want back in.”

“I don’t-”

“You want back in, and you weren’t going to tell me till you signed the contract.”

Cameron froze, mouth hung in honest outrage, and then it dropped to confusion. Why was he pushing her on something so untrue? She closed her lips and swallowed, dry. “I don’t want back in.” She snapped. “I want a different job –yes. But I don’t want to work as a diagnostician.” She stood up, coffee was forgotten, relaxation time finished. “Stop trying to make me out as the bad guy. I’ll see you at home.”

She stormed off, and with an hour until her shift started, she raced directly to the ER, to her files, to her job, straight into House. 

House stood at the reception desk, behind it –naturally. He was searching for something, anything, maybe even he wasn’t sure of what he wanted yet, and the nurses either side had long ago given up trying to move him on. As Cameron flew in, swing doors waving behind her, he looked up and gave her the thumbs up. He returned to his task. She snorted and quickly found herself in front of him. 

“What are you doing –here?” 

House smiled but was too engrossed in looking through some files to look up and meet her gaze. “Ah-ha.” He picked up and elastic band and let it rest on two fingers, middle and first. Then he pulled both sides together and formed a catapult before releasing it. It pinged aggressively. “Reckon I can get a ball of paper onto that man’s chest?” She snatched at the band, twisted it before letting it snap back into his skin. Too soon a red mark appeared. House was interested in her sudden agitation. “What was that for?” 

This time she grabbed his fist, dragging him into the desk. “What are you doing in my department?” House felt her fingers let go just as quickly as she’d held them and he stepped backwards. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Do you care?” 

“I worry about being in the vicinity of an angry female. If she verbally reacts, it’s all good, but I quite like my fingers, and by that look, I’m pretty fond of my other body parts too.” He smirked. “Bigger body parts.” Cameron let go of a breath she didn’t know she was holding and clenched her fingers. “Do you have an office?”

“What are you doing in the ER?” Cameron asked, repeating herself as if believing he would give her a straight answer for once. 

She watched him fidget and then put his left hand in his jacket pocket and pull out a pack of gum. “I was in the mood for spearmint. Wilson only had that other flavour.”

“Peppermint.”

“Right” Cameron stepped backwards and noticed for the first time how many of her co-workers were watching her. She rolled her eyes and dropped her head. Her head throbbed. 

“So, do you have an office?”

“You know, I do.” House’s figure suddenly was moving; quick and with a definite limp, his body rocked, as he went past her and towards the other end of the ER. She gave pursuit. “What are you doing?”

“It’s down here, yeah?” 

The door in front was locked, and Cameron reluctantly pulled the key from her pocket and pushed it neatly into the hole. “Will you answer my question?”

House looked at her, eye to eye. His hand, still a little pink from the earlier attack of elastic, enclosed hers and he twisted it until the bolt unlocked. 

“Yes.”

The tiny office felt cramped as soon as House and Cameron entered. He shuffled into the small chair, at an angle facing both the door and the desk corner. She flicked on a light and pushed her seat, which was on wheels round to the desk. Her work was neatly arranged into piles.

In and Out. 

“What are you doing here?” She put a pen back into the pot and turned to return a medical book to the shelf. She felt like she had fallen into the rabbit hole.

She heard a tap of a cane hitting a table leg and brushed it off. Annoying but not enough to get her to confront him about it. 

“Your husband, who is looking terrible lately by the way, was in my office this morning.” He said, off-handily, without making eye contact. “Before I arrived even.”

“That isn’t a surprise.”

“That he was there or I wasn’t?” House asked. She looked at him and shrugged. 

“Both I guess.”

“So you know why I’m here?” 

She shook her head. “I doubt it.”

He fidgeted, twisting the cane handle and looked down; a feather was lying on the ground by his toe. “You want back in?” 

Cameron clenched –her whole body tensing in a way only she could do. “I really don’t want back in.”

“I thought that.” House paused. He tapped his cane again. “You don’t want to be a diagnostician anymore. That’s what you said.” She wanted to pace, but the room was too small. She felt hot and breathed in. Her lungs expanded in a slow, meditative style as she unclenched her tiny hands. “Maybe you were lying.”

“I wasn’t lying.” Cameron gave in and sat down in the office chair, the one she’d moved earlier, and twisted her body so she could rest her arms on the desk. God she felt tired now. “I really don’t want to go back into diagnostics.”

“Maybe you never did.” He looked at her and continued to swallow her thoughts whole. He read her better than anyone –it had become part of his job description. “People don’t change.”

She frowned and disagreed. “That’s your prerogative.”

He smiled at her, quickly forming a tight-lipped half-grin, and then nodded. “People don’t change.”

“I want to work back in my speciality, I like immunology. Chase is going back to his; I want to do the same.” She rattled it off and then as if it had been hand-typed, she looked down at the desk and re-read it in her mind. “I want to be comfortable. I’ve done well here.”

“You’re wasted here.” Was his only response, and then he stood up and headed to the door. With the door now ajar and his hand gripping its side so he could peek back and pass through effortlessly, he turned and looked directly into her eyes. “I’m having a drink with Cuddy tomorrow night.”

Before she could open her mouth to respond, the door had shut, and he was gone. 

///~~~///

House lifted the last of a 25-year-old double scotch to his lips and drank it down greedily. He felt for the wallet in his back pocket and retrieved a twenty-dollar bill. “Do you deserve a tip?” He slurred while he waved the money back and forth.

The bartender, wiping the bar, shook his head and retrieved two bottles of coke from under the shelf. One for him, one for House. “That’s not a tip House, that’s, in fact, less than your current tab.”

House dropped the bill and rolled his head. “Funny.”

“Not really.” He took the note and cashed it before taking another order. The young woman and guy beside House paid up and returned to a booth in the corner. “Here, you need to start sobering up.”

“Don’t ruin my fun,” House muttered, dodging the coke that now slid into his shadow and slowly stood up. Disorientated, House slumped into the stool next to him and gave a look to the barman, who responded in kind. 

He then moved the drink to the left slightly. “You drink this, and I’ll give you a phone call.” 

“No worries, I’ve got my bike.” He brushed himself down and noticed the distinct lack of keys in his pocket. “Wait. You stole my keys?”

“Your girlfriend stole your keys.”

“My what?” House felt the lingering effect of alcohol already leave his body. His mind and hair were fuzzy. He couldn’t think. He sat on the stool again. “My What?”

“She said, if you need a lift tomorrow then call someone else.” 

“I think I’d remember if I had a girlfriend.” 

The bartender shrugged and motioned to the drink. “She came in with you, and you kept staring down her top, and she didn’t slap you. I’d say she was your girlfriend.”

He closed his eyes and visualised a stunning blue dress, very low cut. 

“Cuddy. Cuddy. She’s my boss with large breasts.” 

“Who lets you look at -I mean ogle- them?”

“When did she go? And why don’t I remember?” The barman had another customer. He served them and then took a sip of the coke. 

“About an hour ago. She went and had to take a phone call, and when she came back you asked her something and then she left. What did you say?”

House looked at him curiously. “I didn’t even remember she was here until you told me, how I am meant to remember a specific conversation?”

They both shrugged. House had a sudden vision of her –Cuddy- leaning over him. He could almost smell her strongly scented perfume.

“I should’ve done this sooner...”

He felt the heat rising through his body and touched his lips, cheek, no remnants of lipstick, furrowing his brows. He brushed his fingers down his torso and felt a damp spot. “What...” He looked down. Red Wine.

“Oh,” The bartender chuckled. “She threw the rest of her glass at you when you mentioned her baby. That was a crazy thing to say. Women are touchy.”

House distastefully looked up and gestured to the phone. “I need a cab. When I’ve drunk enough to forget large portions of an evening even, I know that I have to call it quits.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now we're getting momentum. I appreciate that most people reading House / Cameron stories are not interested in House / Cuddy, but it feels amiss to completely ignore that he left for Mayfield after hallucinating sleeping with her. 
> 
> I always am interested in how House always sought out Cameron during a dilemma, and her the same, and their worlds did tend to collide during the later seasons. 
> 
> I'll stop rambling - thank you as always for reading! x


	8. Let's heal old wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House reviews his night with Cuddy, and through Wilson's prodding, decides to branch out into an alternative activity. There's mud involved.

“...And then apparently I said something about her being an unfit mother.” Wilson shook his head. The bottle of beer grasped in his hand tilted outwards to combat his body’s opposite direction. 

House’s rolled his eyes at his own idiocy.

“You really said all that?” 

“Apparently” His face scrunched up. The night still blurry and unfavourable, “You know that wine is still there. Until the end of time. She should be ashamed -it cost me $70.”

“You were ripped off.”

House snorted and took a sip from his beer. “Don’t you think she overreacted? I mean I’ve said things about her before. Horrible things.”

“Cuddy and her baby are completely different. She’s parental.”

“Fake parental.” House shook his head. “She has no maternal connection, so she overcompensates by lashing out to everything. I mean I said something stupid, but I was also heavily intoxicated.”

Wilson sighed. “You don’t want anyone to be happy. Unless you can get some too.” His friend stood up and carried a few empty bottles to the bin. “Maybe you should start dating.”

A splutter of beer hit the television screen. “I don’t need to date.”

“House. Nearly 10 years ago, a woman broke your heart. I think you need to start again.” 

House let out a puff of air and rotated his head. “What do you think last night was? I tried it. Dating and I don’t go hand in hand.”

“Well, maybe typical dating isn’t your style.” He looked at his friend. “Maybe you should try going to do stuff you like doing and find someone who shares those interests. No Strip clubs, House.” 

“I don’t like doing anything.” House said, “Besides drinking. And gambling. And sex. Lots of them, and preferably together.”

There was a moment where Wilson said nothing, and then a sigh. “You need to find a hobby.”

“No, I don’t.” Wilson opened his mouth, thoughts processed while the physical action took place. “No, I don’t”. House repeated.

The room was stuffy, hot and uncomfortable. House felt his leg and twinged with regret. His heart lingered back to a day before his leg became the most critical event in his life. 

_“You are an awful dancer.” Stacy breathed, lips tickling his right ear. They turned to their own rhythm. “Much worse than you said on your résumé.”_

_“Well, 5’10” Blonde bombshell, you are not.”_

_She stopped, eyes pouring into his soul. Then she laughed. “That was once. As a dare. In high school.” She rolled her eyes, raven hair rolling on her shoulders, fingers playing with his jacket. His lips pursed in amusement. “How did you find- forget, I asked.”_

_“Hmm.” He licked his lips and started turning again. He played her spine through the black dress slowly; up and down, up and down, her breathing was mellow. She smelt gorgeous. Slowly he could feel her warm breaths increase, and then, she kissed his neck. “Don’t start now, I told you we have to be good. Leonard would have a heart attack if he found us groping on the dance floor.”_

_“Which would mean early retirement, and a new Dean” She purred. Another kiss, closer to his ear._

_“Good point.” He spun her outwards and then around and back into his chest. He bent down to kiss her lips. “I knew there was another reason why I liked you.”_

The room spun, and Wilson was staring at him. “Were you even listening to what I was saying?” House squeezed his thigh and whipped his face from left to right and back. 

“Of course not.”

  


///~~~///

  


Taub and Thirteen addressed the yellow flyer with a mixture of emotions. It clashed with the orange wall and was already peeling from its spot just above the bookcase. The top corner curled, Thirteen pressed it back into place and tilted her head. Foreman walked into the conference room and ignored them, heading straight for the coffee. He’d been stuck on the all-nighter only swapping duties with Taub four hours before. But he couldn’t sleep. The case buzzed impatiently in his mind.

“Have you seen this?” Foreman’s mouth dropped towards the mug of steaming java, pretending to have not heard her voice cut through the silence. “Eric, did you know about this paintball tournament?”

A gulp of coffee, then air and Foreman rolled his head. “No. What tournament?” 

Taub automatically filled him in. Ripping the flyer from the wall, he scanned and dictated. “Teams of 8 doctors and/or nurses. Team building. Next Sunday.” 

“So?”

“So,” Thirteen twirled and looked him in the eye. “It’s been a topic of conversation for weeks. It has only now arrived in our office. Like it’s been taken from another wall.” Taub lifted it and saw the array of marks where the tape had been, and then removed, more rolls of adhesive decorating the corners. 

“So?”

Thirteen’s eyebrows arched as she pressed her fingers into her hipbones. “Are you being dense? House is up to something.”

Foreman rolled his eyes and stepped to the chair, end of the table, head of the table. “He’s always up to something.”

A cane clattered against a chair leg. The three of them stared at the glass-segregating door. Blue eyes stared back. 

“Of course,” the door swung on its hinges, and House moved into the den, a smirk gracing his lips while he twitched from the lack of coffee. His rumpled shirt was bright red; he looked decadent and evil. “you would suspect I’m up to something.”

“Aren’t you?” Foreman asked quizzically. Glass chinking against ceramic as his mug touched the table.  
  
“Of course. We’re forming a team. Diagnostics and Oncology. I like you guys. I want us to feel the love.” The bland stare was ominous. “Okay. The top prize is 12 hundred dollars, which Wilson and his groupies don’t know about. You get 250 each if we win.”

“Leaving you with $450?”

House poured his coffee, stirred in sugar and nodded. “A great deal. You all in?”

Taub wondered if there was a choice to say no.

  


///~~~///

  


The ground was clay and soft thanks to heavy boots and the previous day's storm. Leaves were smashed in to the ground along with smudges of fluorescent paint. 

The sound of a klaxon echoed in the distance. A masked face looked back to another before it slowly moved off to the left. 

Creeping and yet cracking twigs underfoot. 

“Amateur.” 

Wilson stood up from his crouched position and peeled off some stuck leaves from his knees. “You know this is one of those times where you should be supportive of the rest of your team.” 

“You know where supportive got me last time?” House muttered, scanning the field for signs of movement. In the far-right corner of his eye, House noticed a green speckle of arm followed by a black rifle spun from view. Aligning his gun with the other side of the tree, he pinpointed where he knew a thigh would appear if they ever decided to move. Another movement occurred in his peripheral vision. “Someone is moving forwards to the left -it got me shot in the cheek by my own teammate.” 

“Where?” 

“By that oak with that paper bag hanging from its branch.”

“Still don’t see it.” House saw his own mark move, and by firing off two shots in quick succession, he had one less member of the opposition to worry about. 

He looked at Wilson and then gestured with his gun. Wilson aligned his sight and noticed a reflection of plastic eye shield glint in the light. “Oh.”

They hid furthest back from all their teammates. House had no inclination to start moving across the terrain at any speed without a new portion of thigh muscle. Guarding their flag was his prime job. He quite enjoyed picking off the reckless players one by one. 

A crackle of pellets hit a near-by tree. While House automatically crouched, Wilson continued to watch for any movement. Shaves of paint grazed his ear. House pulled him to the floor. “Don’t be an ass, Jimmy.” 

“Sorry.” The air was silent again. House managed to swoop upwards, find his footing and balance against the large tree behind them while hitting Wilson’s mark and causing another to canter back behind the shelter. He smirked.

This game was too enjoyable. 

He watched the person leave; paint caked to his jacket as well as on a pair of ugly fitting jeans, and spotted a lock of blonde hair fall from its place behind the mask. Dark blonde- Australian Blonde. “Huh.”

“What is it?” Wilson asked, cowering still behind a hill of mud and fallen pine. 

“I think I got a Wombat. Do you think I’ll get bonus points if I get a pair?”

Wilson shrugged and turned back to his spot, edging up the incline to poke his eyes over the mount. House rolled his eyes at his friend’s cowardly advances. “I’ve decided you need to go capture their flag.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

Wilson shook his head. “But the others?”

“Could be out of the game for all we know. But either way, they’re clearing the path for you. Go, young Jedi.”

“I’d rather-”

“Stay here with me.” He leant forward and patted his friend’s head. “I know, but you are set for greater things in life. Go on. I’ll cover you.” 

The ground stuck to Wilson as he rose, taking leaves and twigs with him. He crouched and looked out on to the woodland in front. There was no movement for now. He nodded to his friend, letting a sigh escape before heading opposite, towards the flag. 

The way ahead was clear, falling leaves and fallen logs, sturdy trees and steady bushes blocking most onlookers from seeing the oncologist moving into enemy territory. House checked the area before limping slowly back 5 or so feet to check that their flag was indeed still in place. 

A crack of twigs made him spin badly, slippery mud becoming a cushion for his ungainly fall. 

He cursed and put out a dirty palm. There was no leverage. 

No one around. 

Maybe. 

He pushed his gun into his left hand and supported himself with his strong right one. Grabbing a rough half-hidden rock, he shifted into a sitting position. 

Fatefully into the barrel of someone else.

“This is much more fun than Chase said it would be.”

Allison Cameron chuckled, blonde slivers of hair falling from a messy bun, mask shielding him from her stare and pretty grin. 

House remained in the same place as when he’d slid up into a sitting position, acutely aware that he had little chance of defending their flag now. If his team lost this, it meant the prize money was up for grabs by everyone again, they had been the only team unbeaten. He swore under his breath, fingers grasping the rock for comfort. 

“Are you really going to take out a cripple while he’s down?” House wondered if his left handgun control could take her out before she could pull back the trigger. 

Her fingers were around the barrel, twisting it out of his grasp and onto the ground behind her. She chuckled again. He swallowed and shook his head. “You know this is just a game, right?”

“Yeah. I know about the prize money too, House, and I also know that you haven’t been playing nicely.”

He wondered if he could kick her to the ground then, pretend she tripped and... his bum leg wouldn’t cope with the quick assault he needs to get either her gun or his and get her out of the game. “You think this is about money?”

“I think it’s about the money, embarrassing your co-workers, and trying to get that nurse in oncology’s number.” He smirked behind the visor and thanked the black plastic for its opacity. 

“You think I need a paintball gun to impress her, my barrel-” 

“Hero’s are sexy.” She said honestly. “Even you can admit that.”

“Hero’s are _sometimes_ sexy.” He muttered, looking up at the cocky woman still trailing her gun at his chest. “Sexy enemies who wear leather on the other hand.” He held a breath. “Chase still into being hurt, right? He must love your new attitude.”

“Hmm.” She kicked the ground. “Where’s Wilson?”

“You want to trade secrets?”

“Just wondered if he’d want to watch you squirm that’s all.” Her shoulders lifted upwards and suddenly back down as she glanced to her left. “Never mind.”

Two shots left her gun, landing both on his chest. Pink splattered nipples appeared on his fatigues. He flinched and then scowled. “That was childish.”

She let her laughter dance around them both. 

“I know.”

  


///~~~///

  


The large group of doctors and nurses, bruised from the pellets and pink from the bitter wind now wrapping around their bodies, hesitantly formed a semi-circle. The winning team had been a group of junior surgeons. House was disgusted. 

Wilson learnt sympathy wasn’t welcomed either. “I took their captain out that last round, it should count for double.” 

“Yes. Of course, it should.”

“I lost $450 because of you,” House stepped back and reached for a can of Budweiser, downed a good mouthful before looking back at his friend. “You owe me $450.” 

“Right.” 

The crowd suddenly parted, and Cameron stood at the wave’s centre. The crowd clapped and cheered, through a haze of joy and envy. She smiled –glittered in the light- as she was given a bottle of cheap and disgusting wine. She didn’t murmur. 

“What was that for?” House said, eye casually roaming her tight leather jeans, black long-sleeved tee and matching puffer vest. 

“Most kills in the game.” House scoffed. “She beat you by 3.” 

He frowned and sipped at his drink. “You think I want to be the centre of attention right now? That wine is better off as a weed killer.”

Wilson watched his friend, skimming her, looking downwards, ignoring his stare. House was up to something. “But she beat _you_.” 

He looked over and nodded. “That my friend is why your salary is healthier than mine, you’re awfully clever.”

Cameron was now almost beside him, reaching into the cool-box to remove her own half-iced can of beer. She looked over at him, two eyes at his chest then back to his eyes. “Hey, House.”

“My nipples are fine now, thank you.” He replied with a half-nod, all the way up, and then his neck froze, chin held high. Her teeth gleamed at him, cheeks creased, eyes slits of humour. A light laugh left her lips, and he smirked reluctantly. “I’m glad you see the funny side.”

“You baby.” She replied, pushing closer to him, further from the increasing rabble of thirsty co-workers. “You let yourself get vulnerable by falling over. I just finished the job. You were the one who got sloppy.”

“I think I’m the only one out there who is a cripple.” 

She snorted and turned to the crowd, Chase was watching her curiously. She smiled and nodded at his gesture, fingers splayed and flicking back and forth to usher her to his side of the playground, before turning back to her old boss. “That’s your excuse for everything.” She waved casually at Wilson and left them virtually alone. 

House’s lips were further apart as he inhaled her words and the fresh air. He crushed his beer can and turned to Wilson. 

“Home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight break in updating - not intentional, time seems to go fast when you spend most of your time staring at a work computer...
> 
> Thank you so much for reading <3


	9. Let's turn this baby around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House casually eavesdrops on a conversation not meant for his ears. There's a conversation on a bench, House and Cameron speak again.

The MRI room was cold and brilliantly quiet. 

The squeak of rotating bearings and wheels broke the silence. House pressed the return key and a whirl of motors hummed. “We have lift off.” 

The lights that had been angled onto the white machine flicked pointedly and revealed a murky swamp, green walls swallowing the shadows. The MRI itself was now off-putting. He pressed another button and found the workspace brightly detailed, shiny new computers and work surfaces eagerly turned to automatic mode, and the MRI beeped responsively. 

He smiled. 

The door swung on its hinges, and Foreman appeared, sweat pebbled on his brow. Tie askew. 

“Cuddy will definitely kill you.” His voice muffled from the glass partition while staring through the closed door, despite its lack of transparency. He reached for the handle as House placed pressure onto the microphone switch. 

“You are such a wuss.”

“Cuddy hasn’t approved this room to be operational yet.” Foreman pushed for rationality and knew that it was falling on death ears. He sprang through the doors and watched House fiddle with the contrast settings on the nearest monitor. 

“Cuddy would have to actually be doing her job for that to happen.” He turned to Foreman and smirked. “And we both know that isn’t happening.” He spun on the chair and let it come to a stop opposite the door. “Turn on the light and let’s see what this baby can do.” Foreman’s spine wilted as he turned and pushed the switch. He found the other office chair and wheeled over to the second monitor. Static crackled as the whole room became a rainbow of different LED and monitors. He watched House return the machine to manual. It whined its impatience. “We need a dummy, is Taub busy?”

“He’s downstairs-”

“House!” The external swing doors collided with the walls erratically behind the tiny woman who had her arms folded neatly below her breasts, cupping her cleavage through the pink shirt. Stiletto heels clicked, her eyes, dark and fearful. House turned to the neurologist and rolled his eyes.

“You told her?” 

“I said nothing.” He looked away from his boss’s stare. “You know she has spies everywhere watching your step, especially while your license is still fresh from the printers.”

“Help a brother out Foreman.” He muttered before standing to retrieve his cane. He moved out of the control room. “Yes, mistress?”

“You disobeyed a direct order.”

“I disobeyed what?” He walked forwards, closing the gap. “There’s no patient in there. You said that no one should use this machine for medical testing until the calibration has been verified.” 

Her knees clicked as she walked into his shadow. Chin up, eyes blazing. “You. Are. Not. Meant. To. Be.” She uncrossed her arms and poked him in the chest. A manicured nail depressed his shirt, painfully deep. “In. Here.”

“I’m not doing anything wrong.”

“Get. Out.”

He stepped closer, nail not wavering. There would be a bruise. “You’re angry with me, not this. Bitterness isn’t becoming, Cuddy.”

Jabbing further, House actually winced. A step back and House could feel Foreman’s stare grinding into his head. “I’ll suspend you for a week if you don’t leave now.”

House rolled his eyes, sidestepped and reached for the door. 

“Bitterness is not becoming.”

He left and found himself in an empty corridor on the second floor. 

Another pair of feet followed him. Cuddy wasn’t backing down from this fight. He sighed and turned slowly, fingers twisting around his cane. 

“Yes?”

“I’ve made a decision.” Cuddy didn’t even squirm when she noticed she was fully covered by his shadow. Fabricated light twinkled around him. “I am replacing the spare position in your team on your behalf. Someone I can trust as well.”

He rolled his eyes and waited for the inevitable. 

“Chase. I’ve picked Chase.”

House swallowed the surprise. His tongue clicked. “You’ve picked Chase? My highly trained wombat?”

“He turned you in at every opportunity.” Her smile was cold, and it did not reach her eyes. “He’s replacing Dr Sing when he retires in two months. I thought he could keep you company while he packs up his stuff.”

There was a silence while Foreman left the MRI room and by-passed the pair. Eyes followed him down to the stairwell and waited for the swing door to return to stationary. “And Cameron?”

Cuddy blinked. Her foot tapped as she clicked a pen, previously in her grasp, home into her breast pocket of the fitted jacket. “What about her? Chase is a big boy; he doesn’t need consent from his wife.”

“You’re leaving her in the ER?” 

“She’s not happy there?” Eyebrows furrowed. “How do you know?”

“I don’t.” House dropped his cane into the floor and dragged his top teeth across dry lips. “But I don’t spend 3 years training doctors to let them sew up gaping holes on idiots.”

  


///~~~///

  


House knew this would happen. 

“So you’re allowed to work for him, and I’m not. That’s it?” 

“I’m going to be there for a few weeks, tops. Nothing.”

The changing room was empty. It was midnight. Most staff had already rotated shifts; Friday’s special in the local bar drawing the usual slow movers swiftly into the rough drinking hole. 

House’s patient had been stable since late afternoon, his team drowning her in steroids earlier. He had fallen asleep in his yellow chair, feet crossed at the ankle on the rest, arms laying comfortably on his chest. He took his time to gather his bags and leather jacket from the office chair. 

When he’d left for the main entrance, two very blonde doctors squabbled in the shadows by the closed magazine stack. They had rushed into the nearest changing room when they spotted a cleaner staring at them. He, naturally, followed.

“So it wasn’t the fact that I could be working for him, it was more to do with how long I would’ve been there.” She brushed her hair from her face. “A couple of weeks is the limit?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Allison.” He turned to the bench and sat down slowly. “This is a stepping stone. You said you didn’t even want to work for him.” Eyes squinted. “Do you?” 

Cameron shook her head. “No, of course, I don’t. No.” Her legs traced his own, fingers reaching for the wooden slat that Chase was now on. She joined him on the seat too. “I just think sometimes we don’t...”

“What?”

“We don’t tell each other everything.”

Chase reached for her hand. Fingers tangled as he caressed the smooth patch of skin on her palm. “Like?”

Cameron looked at him. His face showed an emotion she hadn’t seen on his face before. But he didn’t want to tell her. She decided not to push her luck. She swallowed and changed her tact.

“You don’t trust me.” 

“I trust you.” He said softly, almost pleased with how easy he could tell her considering what she could have asked. “I do. I don’t trust him not to hurt you, that’s all. You both should stay on opposite sides of the hospital and have floors between you. You know you can’t work for him again.”

She blinked and nodded. Reluctantly agreeing. “I can’t stand this.” Standing, she reached for her bag and left the room. Chase quickly followed. House watched them leave unnoticed. 

He knew what to do. 

  


///~~~///

  


The next day was brighter. It was too early for him to be in the department. Too soon for him to deal with the fellows. To deal with Chase. 

House found himself outside in the courtyard between the main building and one of the outpatient ones. Geriatric patients were out with their shiny walkers and personal carers. The nearest bench was half-occupied, but he accelerated toward it anyway, and the occupant was unaware of his impending arrival. He slid onto the wooden slats, a slight creak as he transferred pressure from cane to seat, and then down. His feet extended and crossed at the ankle. He looked to his right.

A sob escaped the curled creature, knees next to head, arms wrapped around shins, feet flat on the bench. Her head bowed. 

He tapped them on the shoulder. 

“Cameron?”

She had a hat pulled down so he couldn’t see her eyes; her pink scrub pants the only nod to her profession as a thick hooded sweater covered her neck to waist. 

A quick wipe of the eyes. A scowl creasing her forehead. They both stared at one another. 

“What are you doing here?” She asked. Puffy skin and red cheeks shiny from her tears. 

“What’s happened?” 

She cleared her throat and kicked his right thigh while moving her legs. She didn’t apologise. “I handed in my form today. No more ER. Everything’s too much right now.” Cameron scanned the windows above. He nodded.

“Cuddy chose Baumgarth for Immunology department head 2 days ago.”

She opened her mouth and then closed it. “How did you-”

“I was trying to remove a letter from an insurance company in Cuddy’s office. Saw the name. She accepted.” 

Cameron blinked slowly and nodded. “I am going to work for her.”

House sighed and fell back into the bench’s hold, his left hand played with his cane as he felt for the cotton collar itching his neck with his right. He scratched until the skin was red before sighing. “You’ll be wasted there.”

“You told me I’m wasted in the ER too.”

“She’ll use you like a glamorous assistant.” He looked her in the eye. “You want that?”

She shrugged. “It’s what I’m good at. I was your secretary for 3 years.”

House scoffed. “You want me to tell you that you’re better than that?”

“I don’t want _you_ to tell me anything House.” She too scratched at a patch of skin. Her hand. “I want to get away from…” She trailed off. “If this is what I can do, then I’ll do it.” 

He rolled his eyes. “Fight it. Tell Cuddy you want to head up the department. You’re overqualified for Christ sakes.”

Cameron kicked the dirt below her feet and shook her head. “I am not you, House.”

They were silent. 

A squabble had broken out between two old gentlemen. One convinced the other had stolen his box of letters. A timid nurse tried to resolve the bubbling males; the one with the cane poked her as he fought his case. She stepped back and shouted for assistance. Cameron clenched. “Leave it.” He muttered under his breath. “I’m a cripple, and you're... well, we aren’t the assistance she needs right now.” 

Two men arrived. Dressed in deep blue, meaning business. Silence in the courtyard drifted in once more. The pair were sat on opposite sides of a line of shrubs. House looked at her again and shook his head. “Wait. Why were you crying?” 

Cameron sighed and rolled her eyes, a mixture of emotions. She opens her mouth, puckers lips and feels for a gnat bite. It’s below her knee. “Something bad. Chase is losing it, he doesn’t trust himself. He doesn’t trust me…”

“He thinks...”

“The worst in everyone” She clenches her fists. Breathing hard. “Chase declares that he trusts me, and yet he won’t let me move without his hand in mine.” She cleared her throat. “How am I meant to act?”

House shrugs and stands. “You’re a good doctor, Cameron.” He murmured. Cameron looked up, a nod. Maybe a smile was half-hidden beneath her loose hair. But he was already gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting more House Cameron time now, their circles are drawing closer. But nothing is easy. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, as always! <3


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